Quiet does this moment lie
when dusk surrenders to the night.
Soft the shadows gather ‘round
to blur the focused edge of light.
Subtle does the scent arise
from blossomed spring in calling.
Slow the breath of life unwinds
into this moment’s pleasure, falling.

Here the day’s repaired,
the tasking rendered ghost.
Here the soul drifts free from care,
granting what is needed most…

with only blood dripped stains of wine
to count the scattered ashes,
to count the precious moments played,
mixed throughout the ink’s dark splashes
in what this heart has spilled
upon this page in poetry filled.